


The Elephant in the Room

by ciaconnaa



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Gen, and being with family, and mentions of recovery and illness but mostly hope and patience, because I SAID SO!!!!!!!, does that....cover it, fluff and a little bit of humor and then a little bit of fluff, oh yeah and!, tony survives the snap in endgame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 22:55:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20786402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ciaconnaa/pseuds/ciaconnaa
Summary: The left side of his bed is a casket of rumpled sheets, a sign that Peter took his turn sleeping by his side in the event that Tony might need something. Pepper's nights are always folded blankets, perfectly propped pillows, and the lingering scent of her floral shampoo. Familiar, sure, but the kid is a welcome change, or rather a welcome return, and Tony can admit he likes it best when the kid is by his side for his recovery. Doesn’t matter that Tony’s, physically, at his most pathetic: he’s missed the kid too damn much to care.or;Tony, Peter, and another day on the road to recovery after the blip





	The Elephant in the Room

Tony doesn’t have super hearing, but he’s pretty sure even a deaf man could hear the ruckus that Peter and Morgan are making in the kitchen at the crack of dawn. There’s the sizzling of a buttered pan, the clang of the toaster being set up on the counter, and the sounds of Peter’s brain melting when he realizes that yes, Morgan _ definitely _ intends to pour strawberry milk into her cereal and she will find it _ appetizing. _

Tony doesn’t move the entire time. The left side of his bed is a casket of rumpled sheets, a sign that Peter took his turn sleeping by his side in the event that Tony might need something. Pepper is always folded blankets, perfectly propped pillows, and the lingering scent of her floral shampoo. Familiar, sure, but the kid is a welcome change, or rather a welcome _ return _, and Tony can admit he likes it best when the kid is by his side for his recovery. Doesn’t matter that Tony’s, physically, at his most pathetic: he’s missed the kid too damn much to care. 

Eventually, the rattling from the kitchen wanders through the halls. Peter whispers something about Pepper’s breakfast to Morgan, telling her that he needs to check on Dad before she can come in. Then, there’s a knock on the door and Peter lets himself in, tray of plain toast, water, and a bowl of fruit in his hands. Peter’s got one of the pieces of bacon he fried for himself hanging from his mouth.

Tony doesn’t move, but he does manage a genuine smile. 

“Good morning,” Peter sing-songs as he finishes off the bacon. He sets the tray on the side table before he moves around the room, pulling back the curtains and drawing the blinds. “Your daughter is _ disgusting!” _He announces with exuberance, like he’s just announced some wonderful news.

Tony’s smile breaks into a grin; his chapped lips crack and break, and he licks away the pain. “Strawberry milk in the peanut butter cereal?”

“Literally, what the hell is wrong with her?” Peter sags a little as the act is dropped. His expression molds into disgust before it finds itself into something neutral as he checks Tony’s infusion pump and lines, making sure none of the wires got tangled in the night. “Looks good,” Peter says, relying on his aunt’s basic teachings. He knows enough to know when something’s _ wrong, _but not necessarily how to fix it. “Arm feel okay? May can check later. But I think…” He picks up Tony’s arm - his only arm - inspecting it like delicate glass. “I think it’s okay.”

Tony takes a deep breath, as deep as he can without it hurting, and nods in agreement with Peter’s assessment. 

The kid mirrors Tony; he takes a deep breath, and exhales with a smile. “Good. How’s the pain? Scale from one to ten?” he asks as he takes a thermometer and checks Tony’s temperature. 

He waits for the reading - _ 98.8 - _before answering. “Four.”

Peter lights up. “Oh yeah? That’s the best yet. Far cry from yesterday’s eight.” With fingers that might be more calloused than Tony’s, Peter brushes some of Tony’s hair back. “If it’s a four, I think that means we should have breakfast out on the porch.”

Morgan appears like something out of a magician’s trick, cheering for Peter’s idea. “Yay!” She takes some initiative and swipes the tray; Peter barely manages to grab the water off it before Morgan marches out of her father’s bedroom and down the hall. “I’ll set up everything!” she calls, followed by a shouted _ whoops! _When she bumps into the wall and jostles the food. Luckily, none of it falls on the floor or gets smeared on the walls.

Before Tony can protest Peter shoves his forearm in his face. “You know the drill.”

With his one arm Tony grabs onto Peter and attempts to lift himself up. Peter ends up doing most of the work like always, his other arm snaking behind his back to keep him propped up. Eventually, Tony sits up, but he’s winded.

“Take your time,” Peter says easily as he moves the IV pole out of the way. He takes a few steps back to let Tony breathe, head tipped forward and arm bent over his knee. “Bathroom before we head outside?” he asks, eyes on the on-suite.

He takes Peter’s hand and stands on shaky feet, and his smile wobbles in a similar fashion; the pain always spikes a little when he has to get up. But still, he insists, “I got it.”

Peter’s brow arches before he blinks, uncertain. “You sure?”

Tony huffs out a laugh and gives the kid’s hand a gentle squeeze before he grips his IV pole with both hands. “Yes, brat. I’ll be fine.”

Walking to the bathroom on his own is one of the most physically taxing things he’s ever done, and the list of things he’s done is quite impressive: those stones were really something else. But he gets there as promised. He has to sit on the closed lid of the toilet for an extra five minutes after he’s done and washes his hands, but he does it all on his own, and he can’t help but feel like his life is full of the simplest victories these days.

He doesn’t really mind.

Peter is finishing making the bed when Tony comes out, immediately falling into the doorway to support his weight. He’s changed the sheets and everything, and Tony watches with mute fascination as Peter turns down the bed like a pro: he didn’t think the kid had it in him. He’s been to his house many times, and the kid never had his bed made. Hell, he woke up this morning, and Peter’s side of the bed wasn’t made. “Didn’t think you knew how to do that,” Tony rasps out, trying for a smirk.

The kid finishes fluffing the last of the pillows in flurry before he swoops over to Tony’s side, arm wrapped around his waist and his good and only arm slung around a shoulder. “Back when I first moved to May and Ben’s,” he says, beginning the slow and agonizing hobble to the porch. The wheels of the IV pole make an unappealing noise on his hardwood floors. “May hadn’t finished nursing school, so she had a job as a maid at a fancy hotel. I went on weekends to help her make the beds.”

“Seriously?” 

“Oh yeah. Did it so many times, I never wanted to make my bed again. So I don’t. May never makes hers either. We drove Ben up the wall. But, I thought I’d make an exception. For you. But I could always go back to being messy, if that’s what you prefer.”

“I never knew that. The, uh. Hotel thing.”

Peter smiles, tooth poking out like it always does. “Oh, yeah. Well. Always fun to learn new things, huh?”

He thinks of time travel and quantum physics and radiation effects first. But then the cold clinical edges of that soften and make way for the stuff that _ really _matter: everything and anything that has to do with his kids. “Yes,” he whispers, because it’s all he can manage. Each step is just a tad agonizing. 

But Peter is a nice distraction. “I know how to make an elephant out of towels. I can put one on Morgan’s bed.”

“Don’t forget the chocolate.”

Peter snickers. “I won’t. It’s the most important part.”

Eventually, they make it to the porch, where his daughter has set the tray on a little side table between two rocking chairs. Peter’s quick to get Tony seated before he fusses - Morgan runs inside to grab throw pillows on the couch and they put those behind Tony’s back. Peter replaces the spare rocking chair with two kitchen chairs from inside, mumbling something about spilling and potions and strawberry milk messes while he moves the various lines out of the way, careful not to get them tangled. It sounds like nonsense, but it’s the jibber jabber is like poetry to his ears.

“So Morgan,” Peter says once he gets Tony’s tray all set up on his lap. He nabs a piece of watermelon and sticks the whole thing in his mouth, hoarding it in his left cheek. Morgan giggles at the sight, falling into a loud shriek when Peter moves the watermelon to make the other cheek puff out, crossing his eyes to complete the funny face. “Do you think today you can finally take me fishing out on that little boat you got?”

“Uh-huh,” Morgan nods. “Do you like worms?”

Peter sticks another piece of fruit in his mouth, not caring that he’s talking with his mouth full. “I don’t _ not _like worms.”

“You have to touch a worm,” she says matter-of-factly. “That’s what makes the fishies come.”

“Oh. Well.” He chews, swallows. “If it’s for the fishies. I am very okay with touching the worms.”

“Good. ‘Cause I’m not.” Her nose wrinkles. “Touching the worms is _ your _job.”

Peter gives a mock salute. “Aye-aye, captain.”

Tony chuckles, an airy breathy thing, and it earns him Peter’s attention. When the kid looks down and sees he hasn’t touched his breakfast he frowns, gently tapping the plate on the tray before he picks up the pill box and opens the one that says _ THU, AM, _emptying its contents on the napkin. Tony starts with those, swallowing them with half his glass of water, before he pops a piece of cantaloupe in his mouth.

He feels a little bit more like his old self when he hoards it in his left cheek, making both Peter and Morgan smile. 

Breakfast is a slow process, especially with Tony’s appetite shot to hell with all the pain medication. But it’s nice. Peaceful. Peter fills in most of the silence with his rambles and Morgan provides some killer one-liners and questions only a four year old can muster up. But some are more heartbreaking than funny.

“Daddy,” Morgan says when she’s finished off his toast. “Will you go fishing with us?”

Tony smiles, crooked and wobbly from the weight of his scars and his own disappointment. “I wish I could, love.” He brushes some of her hair out of her face. “Daddy’s still sick.”

“But you feel better, right? That’s why we’re eating outside today.”

The smile he has starts to feel easier. “Yeah, I feel better. Just not all the way yet.”

“But soon?”

“So soon, darling,” he says, even though it tastes like a half-lie on his tongue. “We’ll go fishing then.”

“Okay.” 

Then.

She looks up at Peter and announces, “I want a peanut butter smoothie.”

_ “What?” _ Peter throws a defeated hand in the air, paired with a scoff. “Kid, you had peanut butter cereal for breakfast. How could you possibly want _ more peanut butter?” _

“Peanut butter is good.”

"Your mouth is gonna get so sticky, I don't think you'll ever talk again."

"No! You're making stuff up!"

“Well. Okay,” Peter sputters, clearly falling into the trap that is Morgan’s conniving charm. “What am I putting into this peanut butter smoothie?”

“Peanut butter.”

“I...walked into that one, didn’t I. I’ll figure it out. I’m gonna go take Dad back to bed for his nap and then I’ll make you your elixir.”

“I said _ smoothie _ not _ elixie.” _

“And I say _ semantics,” _Peter reaches over and tweaks her nose, not bothering to correct her. “Your mother’s in the guest room, why don’t you make sure she finished her breakfast?”

Morgan scurries back into the house, leaving Peter to help Tony get up and back to his room. The process is still slow, maybe even slower than before, but maybe that’s because Tony’s mood is slightly ruined by squashing his daughter’s fishing trip dreams. 

All those years that Tony wished for Peter back. All those days spent wishing he had Morgan _ and _him. Together. And now he has them.

But now he’s the one that’s far away. A shucked out version of all that he could be for both those kids.

And it sucks.

He knows it’s not permanent. He’s had is ups and downs, good days and bad days, but the recovery has been a steady improvement. He shouldn’t be alive. But he is. It’s for a reason. It’s always for a reason. And as Peter practically carries him back to his bed so he can sleep off more of his injuries, there isn’t a doubt in his mind that Peter’s one of those reasons.

“May and your whole team of doctors will probably be here soon,” Peter whispers, readjusting the lines, checking the veins, doing the whole morning routine in the reverse as he helps Tony back into bed. His whole body aches, particularly his arm that isn’t even there anymore, and he prays Peter doesn’t ask about his pain. “But in the meantime, you should get a little more sleep.”

Tony takes a breath, trying not to let the aches and pains in his chest make it shudder. “I could stay up on the couch. Watch TV with you guys.”

Peter smiles, one that likely mirrored Tony’s when he told his daughter he couldn’t go fishing earlier. “You’d doze off, anyway,” Peter whispers. “Just go to sleep, old man. You know you want to.”

Tony’s eyes flicker across Peter’s face, trying to find a tell in his expression that he’s upset or annoyed or disappointed with Tony. He sees nothing. “You’re a saint for putting up with me.”

“Sure am.” Peter smirks. “But this?” He gestures to all of Tony’s medicines and lines. “This isn’t the putting up with you part. You’re my best friend. I’ll always take care of you.”

“Ned’s your best friend.”

“I can have more than one.”

“Greedy little shit.”

“Mhmm.” 

“You made the bed for nothing,” Tony muses as Peter actually makes a decent effort to _ tuck him in. _

“I was showboating,” Peter grins. “Until you’re back at full capacity to take over said showboating, someone’s gotta pick up the slack. Now.” Peter points a finger at him. “You know the drill. No getting out of bed by yourself. Text me if you need me. Or bang on the wall. Shout. Your annoying voice carries quite well.”

Tony slants his eyes while Peter’s absolutely sparkle with every playful jab he makes. “You _ suck _ at tucking people in. This is the worst bedtime story I’ve ever heard.”

“Goodnight,” he says, even though the forest outside his bedroom window is littered with bright green leaves bathing in morning light. “Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

“Bug bites,” Tony says around a yawn, “Are what gave you superpowers. This is how you repay them?”

“It’s not like we have an endorsement deal,” Peter points out, “But I can still tell Morgan to bring any and all spiders she may find your way.”

Another yawn. “You’re gonna make my daughter your minion, aren’t you?”

“She prefers the term sidekick.” Peter leans down a little, giving Tony’s pillow one last fluff before he gives him a quick kiss on the top of his head. “Mwah! Your goodnight kiss. Now you _ gotta _have good dreams.”

His pain has climbed a bit from four to a weak six, but he feels the steady numbing of his pain medication starting to work it’s way through his body. Even though it hurts, Tony lifts his arm and catches the side of Peter’s face as he’s standing straight again, his palm resting against the kid’s cheek. 

“Thanks, kid,” Tony whispers, his thumb rubbing back and forth, gently brushing the edges of his nose. “For everything.”

With a fond roll of his eyes, Peter leans back down, close enough so that Tony can return the kiss to Peter’s forehead. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll save lots of worms for you so there’s plenty when you get to come fishing,” Peter says as he finally pulls away and heads for the door.

“Just so we’re clear, I don’t want any worms in my bed either,” Tony says, eyes already closing. He’s about to nod off. “No spider. No worms -”

“No _ fun, _ I _ get it. _ Ugh! Just to to _ sleep!” _

He does.

* * *

When Tony wakes up the blankets are messy and unmade again.

But there’s an elephant made of towels at the end of the bed, a handful of peanut butter cereal on his trunk.

Somehow Tony thinks that’s better than a piece of chocolate.

(and hey, at least it’s not a worm.)

**Author's Note:**

> I don't think I've ever had a WIP in my docs for so long in my life. I genuinely think it's been sitting half finished since like JUNE. which is a long time for a 2k one-shot.
> 
> I dunno. This was gonna be different but then it wasn't and jdhkjdhghdkjgh. I liked the idea of Peter taking care of Tony and flip-flopping the typical that you guys might see? Sort of a different take on the iron dad and spider son. maybe. its up to you ahaha I just!!!! wanted to !!! post it


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